Music Video

Young Americans (2016 Remaster)
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
David Bowie
David Bowie
Vocals
Willie Weeks
Willie Weeks
Bass Guitar
Andy Newmark
Andy Newmark
Drums
Carlos Alomar
Carlos Alomar
Guitar
Mike Garson
Mike Garson
Piano
David Sanborn
David Sanborn
Saxophone
Ava Cherry
Ava Cherry
Background Vocals
Earl Slick
Earl Slick
Guitar
Larry Washington
Larry Washington
Congas
Luther Vandross
Luther Vandross
Background Vocals
Robin Clark
Robin Clark
Background Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
David Bowie
David Bowie
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Carl Parulow
Carl Parulow
Engineer
Tony Visconti
Tony Visconti
Producer
Ray Staff
Ray Staff
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

They pulled in just behind the bridge He lays her down, he frowns Gee my life's a funny thing, am I still too young? He kissed her then and there She took his ring, took his babies It took him minutes, took her nowhere Heaven knows, she'd have taken anything, but All night She wants a young American Young American, young American, she wants the young American All night But she wants the young American Scanning life through the picture window She finds the slinky vagabond He coughs as he passes her Ford Mustang But Heaven forbid, she'll take anything But the freak, and his type, all for nothing Misses a step and cuts his hand, but Showing nothing, he swoops like a song She cries, "Where have all Papa's heroes gone?" All night She wants the young American Young American, young American, she wants the young American All right Well, she wants the young American All the way from Washington Her bread-winner begs off the bathroom floor We live for just these twenty years Do we have to die for the fifty more? All night He wants the young American Young American, young American He wants the young American All right (all right) Well, he wants the young American Do you remember, your President Nixon? Do you remember, the bills you have to pay? Or even yesterday? Have been the un-American? Just you and your idol sing falsetto 'Bout Leather, leather everywhere, and Not a myth left from the ghetto Well, well, well, would you carry a razor In case, just in case of depression? Sit on your hands on a bus of survivors Blushing at all the Afro-Sheeners Ain't that close to love? Well, ain't that poster love? Well, it ain't that Barbie doll Her hearts have been broken just like you and All night All night you want the young American Young American, young American, you want the young American All right You want the young American You ain't a pimp and you ain't a hustler A pimp's got a Cadi and a lady got a Chrysler Black's got respect, and white's got his soul train Mama's got cramps, and look at your hands ache (I heard the news today, oh, boy) I got a suite and you got defeat Ain't there a man who can say no more? And, ain't there a woman I can sock on the jaw? And, ain't there a child I can hold without judging? Ain't there a pen that will write before they die? Ain't you proud that you've still got faces? Ain't there one damn song that can make me Break down and cry? All night I want the young American Young American, young American, I want the young American All right I want the young American, young American Young American, young American I want the young American (I want what you want) All night (I want what you, you want I) Young American, want the young American All right Young American, young American, I want the young American All right
Writer(s): David Bowie Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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